


Laughter

by the_pen_is_mightier



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Love, M/M, Softness, They love each other, and they're dorks, happiness, silliness, the night at crowley's flat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24005269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: When it's all over, when the world is saved, Aziraphale and Crowley can't hold it in.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 153





	Laughter

It happens the night at Crowley’s flat. When the bus drops them off, and they’ve dragged themselves up to his door, and Crowley has opened it to let Aziraphale in; when Aziraphale, feeling a rushing, sweeping something when he looks at Crowley and understands the invitation, steps inside with the demon behind him. It happens when the lights flick on and the door shuts behind them, and at last, at long, long last, they’re alone.

Crowley leans against the door. He stares at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale stares back, and they both feel the intolerable weight of six thousand years, of work and of enmity and of silence, lifting like armor off their shoulders. 

And Crowley starts to laugh.

“I don’t believe it,” he says, breathless.

Aziraphale stares at him. “What?”

“It’s over. It’s all over, and the world’s still _here,_ and we’re -” His words are choked off and he leans forward.

“My dear boy, are you quite -”

“It’s over!” He puts his hands on his knees and shakes, laughing, _laughing,_ as though he’s unable to stop himself. 

In Aziraphale it rises more slowly, the swirl of emotions resolving themselves in his throat, the lightness of this still-existing world making his chest feel wide-open and buoyant. But at first it’s enough to simply watch Crowley. The tension lining his face has vanished, his eyes are bright and shining and _happy_ without his sunglasses, and his laughter is like music in Aziraphale’s ears. It’s more beautiful than any symphony by any composer he’s ever heard.

He laughs too. It starts small and builds - builds until he’s laughing more loudly than he can ever remember allowing himself to laugh before. Laughing so hard it shakes his belly, so loud it seems to fill the entrance to Crowley’s flat. He can’t believe this either. He’s awestruck by it.

“The look on his _face,_ ” Crowley wheezes. “When that Adam kid stood up to Satan himself and said -”

“‘You’re not my dad,’” Aziraphale quotes, and then the laughter pulls him under again. 

“Stared down the ruler of Hell and just -”

“Told him off!” 

“Told him off! And _you!_ ” Crowley straightens suddenly and points at Aziraphale, his eyes nearly mad with joy. “You debated the Archangel Gabriel! ‘Is the Great Plan the same as the Ineffable Plan?’ And he didn’t know! You made a fool out of him! You made a fool out of all of them, angel, you damned clever bastard, you -”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale lurches forward and grabs Crowley’s hands, his chest heaving, struggling to retain his ability to speak. He loves the demon so much suddenly that it hurts. “Crowley, I want to kiss you! Can I kiss you?” 

His eyes shine. “Yes!” 

That’s all it takes. Six thousand years of holding back and all it takes now, with the world saved, is to ask. There’s no barrier between them when Aziraphale leans in. There’s no hesitation as Crowley meets him halfway. 

But their lips collide and neither can stop smiling, neither can hold still enough to deepen it the way they want to. Their teeth knock together and their lips pull apart with more laughter and their heavy breaths get in the way. They’re overflowing; it’s barely a kiss at all but more a declaration. Which is just fine by Aziraphale. The love that flows from Crowley is so palpable he thinks it’ll blind him. 

He pulls Crowley into a fierce hug instead. “My darling, my treasure, I _love_ you.” 

“My angel.” Crowley’s practically glowing. “I love you so much.” 

It feels utterly impossible. That must be why they keep laughing, why they laugh themselves to sleep that night in each other’s arms. Why they giggle as they plan how to get out of Heaven and Hell’s punishments, why they bring each other nearly to tears planning what’ll come after that - a hundred thousand days without drawing back from this embrace, days not just of lunch dates and furtive conversations but of lives together, of waking up together, of kissing each other and paying no mind at all to who might be watching. The unlikeliness of it all, that everything in their worlds has led up to this freedom, that they get to enjoy it now forever, must be what drives this endless tide of mirth. 

Still, there’s a moment, before they’re both asleep, when they don’t laugh. There’s a moment when their eyes meet and their love collides again, and despite the unlikeliness, it feels with their bodies clasped together like this is the most natural thing in the universe.

Aziraphale strokes Crowley’s shoulder gently. “Beloved.”

Crowley’s smile is softer; he nestles even closer to Aziraphale, soaking up his blissful warmth. “Night, angel.” 

And when sleep comes for them both, it’s peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @[whatawriterwields](https://whatawriterwields.tumblr.com)!


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